


Totally not jealous

by eyelikeamagpie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: And very little explanation is given as to why, Because Gabriel, Crack, F/M, Gabriel is Riot, Humor, Humour, It's my headcannon and I'll write if I want to, M/M, Or if you're American, Supernatural AU: Gabriel Lives, because I said so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 04:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyelikeamagpie/pseuds/eyelikeamagpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Gabriel is a furry little pervert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Totally not jealous

**Author's Note:**

> I'm supposed to be revising. I blame this entirely on Shannon and hold no responsibility whatsoever for the following insanity.
> 
> Enjoy~

Riot.

It was a fitting name, he supposed, to give to someone who'd posed as the god of Chaos for upwards of two millennia.

Of course, that someone was now, instead, posing as an Australian Shepherd with boundless energy and a knack for getting into trouble.

Still. It was a better name than 'Dog'.

And besides, if he'd piped up with his real name, it would have ruined the whole 'sleeping on the bed' thing he had going. Not to mention the few occasions he managed to sneak into the bathroom whilst the shower was running. As a dog, it was cute. As an archangel, apparently not so much.

There were, naturally, many legends about the Norse god Loki, several of which involved shapeshifting. Not that he'd had a hand in any of them. Not many, at least.

Well, he'd never shagged a horse.

And if he had, he certainly wouldn't have bottomed.

Legends aside, the fact remained that his lovely, durable, Trickster shaped vessel - in addition to apparently making him angel-blade proof - had the advantage of Trickster shaped powers. Including shapeshifting. Not that he wouldn't have been able to do that with his own powers - hello, _archangel_ \- but it was probably a good idea to stay under the not-so-angelic radar for the time being, and expending a large amount of Grace would have been a stupid idea for that reason. And he was anything but stupid.

Which was exactly why he'd allowed himself to get hit by a car.

Not just any car, however. The car belonging to the two people who'd managed to stop the Apocalypse in its tracks - and yeah, fine, don't give the friendly neighbourhood Trickster any credit for that _at all_ \- and throw Michael and Lucifer into the Pit. He'd only heard rumours about what had happened after that, but none of them had exactly been sunshine and roses.

So he could hardly be blamed for wanting to find out for himself. Granted, throwing himself into the road hadn't exactly been the wisest way to do that, because as it turned out, when his lovely, durable vessel _wasn't_ Trickster shaped, it wasn't durable at all. In fact, it was rather breakable.

He'd realised this around three seconds after the car had slammed into him.

The rest, as they said, was history. He'd been taken to the vet - a freaking _vet_ \- by his knight in shining plaid, and eventually moved in with the guy.

He used the phrase 'moved in', because Sam sure as hell didn't own him. True, the collar around his neck was far less kinky than he might have imagined - only once or twice, and really, could you blame him? The guy was hot - and he was fed twice a day from a bowl on the floor - not exactly dignified, but he wasn't about to turn down free food - but that didn't mean that he was owned. No way. He could level the entire city with little more than a thought, he was _not_ a pet.

Still, there were perks to behaving that way.

Nobody questioned it if a pet licked their face, after all.

Unfortunately, he was not the only one allowed to do that.

He'd originally blamed himself for the fact that Sam and Amelia had moved in together. He'd sulked around for a week, scowling at the woman as best he could with a muzzle, and taking his annoyance out on the sofa cushions. Sam had been plucking pieces of fluff out of his ridiculously long hair for days afterward.

A few nights after they'd moved in, he'd sat up from his perch on the sofa at the sound of noises. Loud, shameless noises that sounded like they belonged in a porno.

He had absolutely not listened. At all. And he had certainly not moved closer to the closed door of the bedroom to hear better, nor had he zeroed in on the deep moans or throaty sighs that he _had_ _not heard at all._

Maybe a little.

He wasn't jealous. He was most certainly not jealous, because archangels didn't need to get jealous. And if he wedged himself between Sam and Amelia most nights, it was because that was the most comfortable place to sleep.

And if, _maybe_ , he'd overheard a conversation about a long-lost husband, and _possibly_ recruited an old contact or two to find and release said husband from where he was being held, it was only because of his compassion for humans in need.

That was pushing it.

Still, he'd managed to avoid jumping for joy when Amelia had gotten the call, so that had to count for something.

_Totally not jealous._


End file.
